Nothing But Treble
by BetweenDreamsAndReality
Summary: Welcome to World Academy, where students endeavor harships including heartbreak, drug abuse and a failing music program. Can a group of delinquents put aside their differences and prove that they still have something worth fighting for? Gauken AU. Edited 21.01.13. Main pairings: UsUk, Franada and some on the side. ON TEMPORARY HIATUS!
1. A Whole New World

**Hi and welcome to Nothing But Treble**

**.****..****.Again**

**Okay this is literally my 3rd time rewriting this, but I want to stick with it and I told myself I would rewrite it and now I am!**

**I really love music and there is a school by my house that is all music and I thought it would be cool to go there**

**Then I thought, "hey I could write an ff about this"**

**And poof!**

**This story was born!**

**Sorry for rambling I will stop now...**

**I don't own the picture. I got it off google images. I give total credit to whoever the amazing artist is!**

**Chapter song= 'A Whole New World - Aladdin' (Yeah Disney)**

**Edit 21.01.13**

**Warnings: Strong language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

**January 3rd**

"Come on," Alfred shouted. Alfred F. Jones Williams was a tall, rather chubby, adolescent. His gold hair was neatly parted to one side, somewhat reminiscent of the 1940s, where an obnoxious cowlick erected towards the smog-filled sky resembling the skyscrapers surrounding him. Veiling his sapphire eyes were a pair of glasses teetering on his nose as he ran. Ill prepared for the winter, the American wore an over-sized blue t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, black low top converse and a bomber jacket, another item dating back to the 1940s. He weaved clumsily through the crowd of diverse appearances, managing to bump his backpack or suitcase or instrument case into a pedestrian without apologizing. Alfred glanced over at his half-brother and repeated "come on."

Matthew panted. "Slow down," he reprimanded when he finally reached Alfred when the crosswalk was red. Overall, Matthew Williams had a petite physique. Similar to his brother, he had wheat blond silk ringlets which reached closer to his slender shoulders than Alfred. In place of a cowlick was a ringlet of hair that constantly fell into his soft features. The Canadian had an identical pair of grey wired glasses sitting on his nose which did little to cover his amethyst irises. Comparable to his half-brother, Matthew wore a red sweatshirt, a pair of jeans and high top converse; both unable to anticipate the harsh weather conditions. Despite their obvious similarities in appearance, the brothers' personalities were polar opposites. Alfred was rash and loud while Matthew was quiet and cautious. "Do you even know where you're going?"

"Nope," Alfred stated. The American raised brother followed the multitude of grey dressed businessmen cross the street, despite the signal being red. That was how New York City was, right? New Yorkers crossed the streets due to the fact that they were always rushing to get to their destination time which would cause all of the taxi cars to remain at a stand-still. "But it's simple. One way the numbers go up and the other way they go down. We just need to find 61st street. How hard could it be?"

"We should've taken a cab," Matthew muttered as a puff of smoke breathed out from his lips from the weather. Of course, the two boys from Virginia would not be prepared for the winter weather of New York, but all of their hustling around the city had to warm them up a bit.

"But this is more fun!" Alfred exclaimed all too cheerful. "See, we're at 61st!" His arms swung in a feeble attempt to fist pump which succeeded in smashing another man with his trumpet case, whom now gave him an acrimonious look.

Alfred and Matthew gazed up at the intimidating stone building in front of them with their backpacks slouched on one shoulder and instruments in the other. The building itself looked as old as America itself, with columns and gargoyles decorating the exterior. The entire regal facility stretched from 61st to 65th with various buildings included in the design, making Alfred and Matthew at a disadvantage. The brothers could not believe a day ago, they were huddled in their small farm in Virginia, brushing horses and feeding slop to theirs pigs, not that it was entirely bad. Now, they were in New York City and stood in front of the famous World Academy, a school notable for its diverse student body.

"Ah, you must be the Williams brothers," a foreign voice began suavely. He was fairly youthful – tanned skin and a muscular frame – and chiseled features. He wore an off-white ruffled dress shirt and a maroon tie which were tucked into a pair of black trousers. His eyes matched the colour of olives as he scanned the two blonds.

"Actually, my last name is Jones," Alfred correctly brusquely and shook the man's hand. He really did not appreciate it when others assumed his last name was Williams. Jones had a sort of ring to it that the other did not.

"Dearly sorry about that. Let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Vargas, but you can call me Roma if you so wish." Dr. Vargas, or Roma, was not what Alfred or Matthew expected to be the headmaster of the school. They pictured a man in a stiff, grey uniform that lacked any personality aside from yelling at students to do better. However, Roma seemed quite immature and unprofessional for his occupation.

Roma's eyes drifted towards the boy's bags and explained all too cheerfully "let me get someone to take these to your dorm."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Matthew spoke up shyly.

"Don't be so modest," Roma said dismissively with a large motion of his hand. "It is a pleasure to have you two here. After all, you _are _on scholarship." The two brothers were nationally acknowledged for their music talents after they appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show for participating in a charity event to raise money for pancreatic cancer. "Besides, you are late for first period."

Alfred scratched the nape of his neck guiltily. He couldn't help but to stop at every corner in midtown and take a dozen pictures. He was practically a tourist, after all. He, as well as his brother, had never actually visited the lofty skyscrapers of New York for they could not muster enough money working in their small town or on the farm. "Yeah, sorry about that," he started with an awkward chuckle. "You know how the city is."

"Of course," he hummed to himself, as if to reminisce; courtesy of his accent, it was obvious he was not born in the States. "Now here are your schedules."

Alfred and Matthew both glanced at their schedules, eyes wide at all of the extra courses they would be taking when compared to their former school. Everything from astrophysics to zoology was on the curriculum, classes they were never offered, or even heard of, before. They thanked Roma for everything and raced off towards the music department with a bounce in their step.

"Alfred, do you even know where the music department is?" Matthew asked, a bit of a déjà vu moment, nonetheless. He realized they had already rushed down this hallway once before, as the mural of the mascot: a bald eagle. Their footsteps echo around them like raindrops in the grand hallway; and what a grand hall it was. The hallways themselves were quite spacious – the two believed their entire hometown could fit the width – with white and black marble tiled floors recently styled to mimic the late baroque period. The walls were colored a shade light blue to match the sky that peeked in through the enormous windows. Between the white classroom doorways were rows of tall, refurbished lockers that were large enough to fit a dead body, if they so needed.

"I think it's down this way," Alfred explained and pointed over his shoulder. When compared to the rest of the school, this hallway was older and appeared neglected. The hallways seemed to date back to the origins of the building – a mix of white cinderblock and brick walls – and beige tiles piecing apart at their feet. The pictures of past students holding trophies were dated back to before the two brothers were even born. However, Alfred and Matthew were in such a hurry to notice such fine details.

"The hero has arrived!" Alfred shouted when barging into the band room, instrument case in hand and backpack strap threatening to plummet to the floor from its position lazily on his shoulder.

Matthew trailed behind, panting, and gave a weary smile. Unlike his oblivious brother, Matthew began to piece together the little details which the half-brothers had skipped prior. The band room dated back to before the country's origins, although that was a bit of an exaggeration it had a nostalgic feel. The stained off-white painted walls were plastered with obnoxious posters with cheesy music phrases only humorous to grade school students. Along the walls were rows of white caged lockers housing only a few black cases scattered around.

What really had Matthew convinced were the students. The sea of, maybe twenty five, students bore bored expressions or were occupied with their cellphone or work for another class. Not to mention a few of them were not even holding their instruments correctly, if at all! The Canadian raised brother did not expect World Academy, a top tier boarding school, to neglect their music program so neglected and filled with…delinquents.

"Oh look, a fat American," one of the students with poorly dyed green hair laughed, loud enough for the entire band, if it should even be considered one, to hear. Three students behind joined in almost immediately.

The conductor sighed. The average height male was quite stiff although he appeared younger than Roma. His face was a pasty white to contrast his chestnut colored eyes peeking over his spectacles, and below his lips was a small beauty mark. His outfit consisted of a lilac dress shirt, a mauve waistcoat, a pair of beige trousers and black dress shoes. The only untamed feature was his uncombed brown hair with a small curl protruding from the part. "While I usually do not tolerate lateness, I will have to forgive you for today, I suppose. Dr. Vargas informed me you were coming today. I am Professor Edelstein." His voice was thickly accented with a Germanic accent while he scolded the half-brothers. He tapped his baton on the stand, as if to gain the other students' attentions. "Now, class, please welcome Matthew and Alfred. They will be joining our band today."

Matthew did not smile this time, only a perplexed look covered his face; although, the same could not be said about his brother.

Alfred's face boasted a laminating smile and exclaimed "nice to meet y'all."

"And a country bumpkin too," the green haired student supposed. The silver haired student behind him chuckled.

"Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Beilschmidt," professor Edelstein lectured sternly. "Is there something you two would like to say to the whole class?"

"No," the albino student said and looked into his hands.

"Actually, I would," the green haired student explained standing up. He had an English accent which confused Alfred since he was deluded with the fact that all those who hailed from the United Kingdom were perfect gentlemen. His overall attitude matched his rebellious attire consisting of a frayed, vintage band shirt from the Rolling Stones, a pair of dark skinny jeans and black boots that stretched almost as far as his knee. His face had quite a few piercings, two on his tongue and one on his enormously bushy eyebrows which were black, despite his original hair color was blond. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green, however concealed by inches of eyeliner, or he calls it 'guyliner'.

Professor Edelstein rolled his chestnut brown eyes. "Mr. Kirkland," the professor said, appalled at the student's behavior. "I expected better from you."

"Pity," the delinquent said with a shake of his head. For someone with such insolence as he spoke, he certainly was intelligent, or at least charismatic to say the least. "You should not have high expectations." He picked at his chipping black nails and sat back into his folding chair, one leg resting over the other. "Now are you just going to take your seat or can we sit out the whole class watching your face, because trust me, I'd prefer the former."

Now it was Alfred's turn to look appalled, his fingers clenched into a tight fist which turned his knuckles white. Yet before he could do anything, the relieving sound of the bell rang throughout the room.

"It's about time," the British student explained exasperated and left without another word.

* * *

"Hey," Alfred said, exhausted from a day of locating his new classes. To the American, there were too many buildings and far too little time to rush between each, even if it was fifteen minutes. He collapsed on the stiff, cream colored mattress and let out a groan.

Their room was awfully large for a dorm room, consisting of both a main bedroom and a personal bathroom. The room had two full size beds one either side and two light wood desks matching the wooden floors. Surrounding them were large, full size windows plastered on the paste blue colored walls. However, the two barely got a decent view due to the fact that they were on the second floor of the building, a shame really. The bathroom was standard - a toilet, a tub/shower combo and a sink - all in a shade of white that could remind any one of a mental institution. Still, the academy was hardly a mental institution with all of its modern advancements.

"Had a rough day?" Matthew asked and folded another red sweatshirt from his suitcase into his drawers. From the spectacle in the morning with the British punk, Matthew figured Alfred's day was not as pleasant as the two had initially hoped.

"To be honest: no. It's just this school is so big."

Matthew picked up another shirt from his suitcase - this one being a white button down shirt - and neatly folded it amongst his others. He nodded absentmindedly, not all too concerned with how Alfred's day went.

"How was your day? I haven't seen you since lunch."

"Good, I suppose," Matthew began. His first day was mostly uneventful, he sat at the only empty seat and was practically ignored in the large lecture halls, but he was not going to complain about that. "Did you make any friends?"

"There was this one kid. He's also in band. I forgot his name, Kiwi or something, and he's Japanese. Isn't that cool?"

Matthew nodded absentmindedly once more and closed the drawer of clothes. His mind was far more preoccupied with another thought. "Did you…notice something?"

"Notice what?" Alfred asked and raised his golden eyebrow. "About Kiwi…?" He thought Kiwi was normal, unless his brother knew something he did not. _Maybe he was an alien, or a superhero or-_

"Band class," his half-brother said bluntly with a glare and interrupted his thoughts. "It wasn't…"

"What I expected." Alfred finished for his brother and exhaled loudly.

"To say the least," Matthew mumbled and collapsed on his bed.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked. He grabbed his favorite Captain America comic book, the one where he slaps Hitler, from his suitcase and began to sift through it.

"Surely you were not too dense to notice that the building was far older than the rest, or at least less taken care of."

"So…?" Alfred asked with a pout and crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe it is not…up to par, but that doesn't make it _bad_, right?"

"I suppose," Matthew drawled out, allowing the word to linger in the tense air. Of course Alfred would be the optimist…

Matthew's eyes gazed at the ceiling through his foggy glasses. He exhaled and asked "is your whole suitcase just packed with comics?"

"No. There's, like, three shirts."

Matthew threw his pillow at Alfred, catching him off guard since his sapphire eyes were more preoccupied with reading his comic. "Hey, dude. That was totally uncalled for."

Matthew giggled.

"Can't I just buy shirts here anyways?" he asked and placed the mint condition comic on his nightstand. "There are a thousand stores, on this street alone."

"Whatever," Matthew said and rolled over onto his stomach. "Good night!"

"Goodnight bro," Alfred said and turned off the nightstand lamp; his dreams swirled with thoughts about the boy with green hair.

_TBC?_

* * *

**Author's Notes**: **First chapter complete! Yea!**

**I really like this new writing style, as hard as it is to write, it is quite sophisticated. **

**Hehe quite xP**

**Oi, what did I do? I do not have much to say except that I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Awww poor Alfred. Arthur's such a bitch! But I love punk!Arthur! **

**Don't worry, it will get better ;)**

**And where is Francis, you may ask...well that's for next chapter :)**

**Please review! I really love reviews!**

**/Falls into dispair because I want to go to World Academy/**

**Until next time, dearies.**


	2. All of the Right Moves

**Namaste my lovely readers!**

**I am sorry for not updating any fics last weekend but I and a competition and I was _dead_ by the end of it! **

**So I know this is "supposed" to be on hiatus but I got inspiration for this chapter and I was like 'hey I should write this'.**

**I really do love this fic, but there is so much work and especially in the month of May! (Q_Q)**

**I know it's a Saturday and it's kind of late so please forgive me for all of my mistakes!**

**Chapter song= 'All the Right Moves' - One Republic. **

**Warnings: Strong language and slight bullying. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

**January 4th**

"Francis! Get out of the bathroom!" Gilbert exclaimed. Gilbert Beilschmidt was a fragile framed adolescent, despite his aggressive façade, aging a mere sixteen. His white wired hair was tousled – strands ascended in all directions – and slightly damp due to the shower he had taken the night before. He eyes were, perhaps, the most curious feature on the pasty German student as they were the deep red shade of scarlet blood. His outfit simply consisted of a long sleeved white shirt, ripped jeans and a pair of tattered converse, much to his family's dismay.

His family was comprised of muscular coaches for professional sports' teams all typical Germans with slick blond hair and broad shoulders; in essences, Gilbert was an outcast. The only reason he attended this academy was so he could join a sport and live up to his family's name; and not to mention his grandfather is the coach of the American football, hockey and baseball teams at the school.

"We're going to miss breakfast!" Antonio called. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was an average sized for sixteen and stopped short at only 1.9m. His skin been sun-kissed by countless hours spent on the beaches in Spain to a perfect hue between olive and chocolate brown. Inherited from his mother, his chestnut brown hair sculptured his square-jawed face in a loose and natural embrace. Even his eyes were large peridot orbs that sparkled in the reflection of the sun. Similar to Gilbert, his attire included a football jersey from the F.I.F.A. world cup hanging loose above a pair of snug denims. Even in such a plain ensemble, Antonio appeared positively marvelous, as expected of him by his mother.

At a young age, Antonio was a model for his parents' skin care products although he was far from spoiled rotten as so many prejudged him to be. In fact, many students consider him one of the loveliest students in the school, aside from his pranks with the trio.

"Five minutes," Francis huffed although his voice was muffled by the echo of the bathroom tiles. Francis Bonnefoy had sixteen years of age, all of which have done nothing but accentuate his beauty with each passing one. His jaw was sharp and bony, like most of his physique, with tiny honey hairs sprouting from his chin. His eyes were a royal indigo only sapphires encrusted in royal crowns could compete with such a hue. His hair was a luminous flaxen gold that gleamed even under the sterile lights of the pristine all white bathroom. His wore his usual: a deep purple button down shirt which the first two golden buttons were unfastened and a pair of tight fitting black trousers (designed in France and made with only the best fabrics, of course nothing less for Francis Bonnefoy).

In fact, Francis' father was the designer of his clothes while his mother probably marketed it through their multi-billion dollar company; the company Francis was expected to take over after his years at World Academy.

Gilbert continually banged his fists on the door, wondering why there were no dents due to this daily routine. "Get your ass out here!"

"I'm coming," Francis called back. He had been in the restroom for a half an hour, although it was definitely nothing new to the trio of best friends. He, daily, had to wash his hair and body with the finest oils, imported only from France and nothing less, then comb his hair and apply products – no, they were not cosmetics, despite what all of the tabloids claim. While he wouldn't say it out loud, the French student was vain. Very vain.

"We're leaving without you," Gilbert called. The albino student turned on his heel and expertly headed towards the door. It was definitely frustrating rooming with someone as insecure as Francis, as he constantly teased that it was the equivalent to rooming with an insecure female. But, hey, he couldn't just leave Francis without a dorm since rooming with Arthur was definitely out of the question by the second day of freshman year.

"I'm done," Francis huffed. He slammed the door open and emerged from the bathroom. He crossed his arms across his chest dramatically and asked "happy now?"

"Delighted," Antonio said sarcastically. He rolled his jade eyes (and gestured for Francis to move onto the hallway. Even the hallways in the dormitories of World Academy were as beautiful as the rooms themselves – the walls were plastered with large windows to enjoy the view of the city and the white tiles were sparkling.

"Ah, new semester," Gilbert said and breathed in the air around him. He closed the door to their dorm behind him and punched the air with his fist.

"Too bad we still have to take band," Antonio pointed out solemnly.

"I wish we got all got into wood working," Gilbert explained. Last year, the trio was too busy pulling the quote-unquote ultimate prank to hand in their program planning sheet before the deadline. When the three finally managed to hand it in, the only open class to meet their requirements was band.

"Think about this," Francis started and wrapped his arms around the other two. "One more semester and then we are out of that shit-hole class."

"Then we'll be seniors next year!" Antonio chirped. For the trio, it felt as if it were yesterday that the three had met as freshman. It was almost unreal that in less than two years, the three would depart on their own journeys and possibly never cross road again.

"Just think of all the new freshman girls that would just be begging to date us…" Francis wondered.

Antonio elbowed Francis in the stomach. "So did you meet anyone while you were in France?" he leered. Over the winter break, Francis had travelled back home to France with his parents, and it would be no surprise that he had attended countless parties to court some of the wealthiest and influential heirs in all of France.

Francis shoved Antonio away with more force than he really wanted.

Gilbert smirked grew. "Oh! Franny claimed someone!"

"Not yet," Francis remarked sincerely. In all honesty, Francis had only partook in a few casual fucks rather than a full on relationship, and he preferred to keep it that way. He believed his angel-like looks should not be claimed by one madam. He was certainly healthy and stunning, and it would have been a crime if only one could call all of this beautiful his or her own.

"Not yet?" Gilbert asked with a raised eyebrow. "Francis Bonnefoy is single! Alert the presses!"

"Very funny," Francis said dripping with sarcasm. He began to walk faster out of the dormitory and towards the cafeteria in the adjacent building. "What about you, Toni? Aren't you with that short tempered Italian?"

Antonio perked up at the mere mention of his boyfriend. "You mean Lovi?"

Gilbert snorted. "You even have a pet name for him?"

Antonio pouted. "Of course. I'm _dating_ him!" Although he couldn't remember exactly when the spark officially ignited, Antonio found something infatuating with the Italian boy since the beginning of the year. Ever since mid-term testing, Antonio and Lovino had been seen together more and more.

Francis laughed sardonically. "You can't be serious."

Antonio pouted with a blush warming his cheeks. "What!?"

"He's just so…and you're so…"

Antonio ignored them and moved onto a different topic rapidly. "What about you Franny?" he asked sharply and jabbed a finger at the French student. "You couldn't even keep a steady relationship for more than a day."

"That is not true," Francis grimaced and locked his arms across his torso. "But I know I could last longer than you and Lovi."

From the ears to the nape of his neck, Antonio's face turned a cherry red. "Fine! Then I dare you to date that fat kid!"

"Oh, non. "I will not be put on another blind date again!" Francis' mother had spent – more like wasted – his entire summer courting various influential daughters (and one son) to multi-million dollar companies. Although beautiful, they were all the same cookie-cutter bland whom of which were only interested in intercourse. Even _he_ had standards.

"Come on, bro," Gilbert started and patted his back all too harshly. "She wasn't that bad."

Francis only glared at Gilbert. Bad was an understatement. What was even worse was the double date Gilbert had arranged when Francis came home over the summer. Of course Gilbert got the beautiful super-model girl who laughed at all of his jokes while Francis was left with the twelve year old sister that still had acne and talked about Pokémon trading cards.

"This isn't fair though," Francis complained with a pout and stomped his foot to the ground for emphasis. Being the only heir of his parents' fashion business, Francis was always used to getting what he wanted.

"You did say anyone…" Antonio retorted dismissively.

"Oh come on," Francis whined. "You can't be blind to Arthur's obvious affection towards him."

"Dude, he ridiculed the kid in front of the whole school. I doubt he likes him," Gilbert deadpanned. Sure Arthur had an odd way of showing affection, but what he did to Alfred yesterday was degrading and certainly not a proposal of admiration.

Francis crossed his arms over his chest. "You will see that I am right. I was friends with him since we were kids."

"Yeah, back when you were this innocent child who has never fucked around. Although I wouldn't doubt you banged Arthur,"

"That's disgusting," Antonio remarked. He put a finger into his mouth and pretended to gag as if he were still in junior high school.

"Anyways, I still refuse."

Gilbert shook his head with disapproval. "Not cool, dude."

"How about his brother?"

Francis raised a perfectly threaded, golden eyebrow. "He has a brother?"

"You know, the shy kid who sits next to you." Francis only blinked twice. "You know. Kind of thin, blond, purple-y eyes, glasses? Ring a bell?"

"Okay, fine, whatever," Francis scoffed a bit deflated. "I could still last longer than you."

Gilbert laughed obnoxiously. "I take bets on Franny."

"Don't think you're out of the clear, Gil," Francis said darkly. "For revenge I bet you couldn't last a week with Eliza."

"Liz!? Fuck no."

"Oh come on, Gil," Antonio begged with a smile that no one could possibly refuse. "It should be fun!"

"You're only saying that because you got to choose who you would suck dicks with. Liz is different," Gilbert sighed. He had known Elizaveta when they were children when she was deluded in the fact that she was a male. He couldn't possibly date his best friend in the entire world. "She's a fucking girl for starters," Gilbert scoffed.

"Would you rather to date the fat kid?" Francis leered with a smirk.

"Be happy I let you switch for his twin."

Francis rolled eyes with annoyance. "Still…"

"Fine whatever. So is this a deal or…?"

"Deal."

"Here's your chance," Gilbert said nudging Francis in the gut. He pointed to the end of the hallway where only a few stragglers were stumbling to breakfast before the cafeteria closed.

In the chaos of it all, Matthew was putting away his large instrument into his locker. He, apart from his flaxen blond hair, did not resemble his half-brother in the slightest. While an outline of muscles were noticeably, mostly on his arms and legs, his frame was skinny as if his weight had not fully grown into his average height. He was scrawny, sure, and he was only a sophomore, but he was decent enough for the time being. Besides, Francis only had to pretend to like the kid before Gilbert or Antonio cracked, which certainly would take less than a week. Then he would be on his merry way with another pretty girl or boy who was definitely in his league.

"Hey," Francis said nonchalantly from the end of the hallway.

Matthew stumbled back a bit and one of his books fell from locked around his arms. He internally cursed at himself for being so clumsy all of the time and lacking the coordination he should have at his age. Truthfully, he never thought he would be noticed within a large student body, seeing as he is barely noticed at home to begin with. But now he could actually have friends!

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" Francis exclaimed. He rushed over to the boy's locker, ignoring the sniggering from Antonio and Gilbert.

"No need to be sorry," Matthew explained. The corners of his lips reflexively turned upwards as if he were put under some spell by Francis' charms.

"Here let me help you with that." Francis dropped to his knees and plucked the book from the white tiled floor. Bet or not, Francis considered himself a gentleman and the few pointers from his father, Francis knew a gentleman always does what was proper.

"Oh, you don't need to-" Matthew began only to be interrupted by Francis.

"Oh, I see you take French," Francis pointed out with a smile. He had always admired students that chose the language of love over trivial languages like German or Japanese that could never impress a girl. Unless she was one of those girls that gawked over Japanese culture, but Francis tended to steer clear of that type of girl.

Matthew looked down at his book sheepishly as if he had forgotten his schedule. "Oh yeah!"

"Do you like it?"

Matthew nodded feverously. "I grew up in Canada so it's nice to hear some French."

"Really?" Francis asked with a compulsory smile. "I am from France."

"No kidding," Matthew said with a chuckle. He immediately and involuntarily wiped the imaginary dirt off himself and off his clothes. Francis noted that is outfit was actually quite modest – a plain white button down shirt and a pair of navy skinny jeans – but he thought it was endearing to have finally met someone who was not fake like so many others in this school were.

"Guilty as charged," the French student explained leaning against the locker.

Matthew giggled like a school girl at his flirtatious charm.

"Have you ever been there?"

Matthew shook his head, his stray curl bobbing as he did so. "I do not have the money," he said a bit deflated and rubbed his wrists with his smooth palms.

"But surely you are rich enough to attend this school!" Francis exclaimed with a wave of his arms. It was a known fact the academy cost tens of thousands of dollars and only accepted those students which parents were influential or had the money to waste.

Matthew shook his head, again. "I'm on scholarship. I don't see how anyone could afford the ridiculous prices. You'd have to be one of those spoiled kids that have their parents pay full tuition for them."

"Right…" Francis drew out. In fact, Francis _was_ one of those rich kids Matthew was referring to. He had never worked an entire day in his life. Heck, he had butlers around the house to clean up after him. Quickly changing the subject, Francis shook his head and asked "how do you like the school in general?"

"Nice, I suppose," Matthew began awkwardly. "And big. A bit too big. You could fit my whole town into this one room."

Francis laughed, a bit too forced for his liking. Francis could not fathom why he was acting so unnatural and fake in front of this random kid; he had never had a problem courting women (and men) before. "I guess it is big…I could always show you around."

"Really?" Matthew's eyes brightened and his toothy smile widened. "That would be great."

Francis shrugged wearily. "Hey, I was thinking, after, would you like to go to this café this weekend? It's all French and it is only a few blocks away."

Matthew bit his lip. "I would love to."

"Oh, I didn't catch your gorgeous name."

"Matthew. And you are?"

"Francis." The French student grasped Matthew's hand and placed a chaste kiss on his palm. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Matthew's entire face flushed nervously as he buried his face into his hands. "Well…I guess it was nice to meet you."

"Same," Francis said.

_TBC?_

* * *

**Author's Notes: Did you like it?**

**So let me explain a few things...**

**Gilbert, Francis and Antonio call Alfred 'the fat kid' = shows an outsider's perspective on how they view Alfred. And also this was supposed to show the stupidity and audacity of bullying.**

******Not wanting to take band = the band at W.A. is notorious for taking all of the 'misfits'! **

**Gilbert's, Francis' and Antonio's sexuality = straight, pansexual and gay (respectively)**

**Francis compliance with the bet = he agrees to the bet because he knows he will not have to stay in the relationship for long thinking Antonio and Lovino would not last too long. And why does he not like to be in a relationship...oh you will see ;)**

**Don't worry, you'll see how Gilbert and Antonio are doing with their relationships shortly XD**

**Responding to reviews: *DISCLAIMER I AM ONLY COMMENTING TO NEW REVIEWS AS I HAVE COMMENTED TO OLD REVIEWS IN PREVIOUS CHAPTERS AND THEY ARE A BIT IRRELEVANT BUT I LOVE YOU JUST AS MUCH!***

**SakuraMoriChan: Pretty much the same thing is going to happen but a bit slower than before and more character development. Thank you for actually missing this story! **

**I think I have a vague idea about how this story is going to turn out, and a possible sequel...**

**Can you believe this is practically 3000+ words? I can't!**

**Thank you for reading and it would be wonderfully appreciated if you could leave a review before clicking the giant red [X] in the corner of you screen!**

**Sweet dreams~**


	3. Call Me Maybe

**OMG I'm so sorry for the sporadic updates, I'm sick and tests are over and ugh...**

**I actually had this chapter done for a while and it was sitting on my computer beckoning for me to edit it Q_Q **

**So here I am finally updating! **

**I have a list of characters and instruments plus year in school that will probably be done for the next chapter!**

**Please enjoy~ **

**Chapter song= 'Call Me Maybe' - Carly Rae Jepson.**

**Warnings: Strong language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

**January 8th**

After a full week of classes, Matthew had definitely settled down into his new school routine, although it wasn't as different as he had expected. It had without a doubt been a challenge for him and his half-brother who had never ventured far out of their little rural town; and now they were thrust into a world surrounded by high class heirs with more money in their pocket than knew what to do with it. However, the simple monotony of getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, attending class, doing homework, eating dinner, studying, relaxing, sleeping and then repeating the next morning had become a monotony to the small town boys.

Aside from his daily routine, the academy itself was brimming with new faces and characters every day; it was virtually a miniature United Nations, as Alfred called it. On the first day of school he had met a student all the way from South Korea, although he wasn't too different from Alfred. On the second, a girl from Belgium who seemed nice enough. On the third, a stiff German which Matthew surprisingly had a lot in common with. On the fourth, a rather tall Russian student who didn't particularly have the best reputation. On the fifth, two, albeit loud, twins from Italy. At their old school, Matthew and Alfred practically knew everyone from the youngest grade to the oldest. Not to mention there was only one class per grade so there weren't that many students. At World Academy, it was a new country and culture every day!

What Matthew still couldn't fully grasp was the entire concept that he was in New York City – it still felt like he was still home. What the Canadian student anticipated was the thrill of riding the Coney Island Wonder Wheel, or a relaxing walk through Central park, or taking pictures on the top of the Empire State building, or an iconic ride on the Staten Island Ferry, or a historical journey to Ellis Isle, the Natural History museum and the Statue of Liberty, or even buying a hot dog and pretzel from one of those vendors on the street! He didn't expect it to be, well, normal.

Instead, Matthew was trapped to the monotonous view out of his second floor window of the grey businessmen or the university student or even an occasional tourist hurrying past. His was homesick, sure, but a different sort of anxiety settled into his stomach. He didn't want to be forgotten amongst the crowds of millions bustling to their daily lives in subway cycles.

Nevertheless, it was Saturday and the students at World Academy had their two days to participate in clubs and enjoy the little leisure time they could fit in between studying for their rigorous classes. On the other hand, Matthew had other plans, which was exactly why he was situated in a brown leather arm chair in a small French style café. The atmosphere was quaint – quite open for such a small area with only a few overstuffed chairs and low tables. The walls were a welcoming shade of olive green that coincided with the deep maple wood trimmings and flooring. The sound of fire place crackling in the distance mingled with the faint, jazz music coming from the ivory piano in the far left corner. In the center of the café was a small bar where one cashier hurried to fulfill whatever caffeine-induced concoction Francis ordered for him.

"One latte for you and one crème for me," Francis said when he returned. He balanced the mugs with sunflowers traced along the rim from linked around his arms to the center of the coffee table.

Francis collapsed tiredly and improperly into his arm chair with a sigh. He raised his mug by the handle and took a small drink through a thick straw. A smile graced his thin lips as he pulled away with a satisfied exhale. "Never fails to please."

Matthew nodded once. "I take it you are a regular here."

Francis winked. "Oui."

Matthew brushed aside Francis flirtatious gesture by smiling half-heartedly.

"You can obviously see why I come here, right? The atmosphere is simply breathtaking, not to mention they all speak French. It's not like that knock-off Starbucks, non, this is real coffee. Take a sip for yourself!" He motioned towards the mug that sat on the oak-wood coffee table that Matthew had deliberately disregarded.

Matthew lifted the cup by its handle tentatively and looked into the cup curiously. Truth be told, he had never had coffee before – the times when he went to Starbucks (which Francis claimed to be faux coffee nonetheless) on the rare occasions that he ventured to the mall he had always ordered a hot chocolate or tea, never coffee let alone a latte, whatever that was.

With all inhibitions aside, Matthew lifted the cup towards his lips and took a cautious sip of the steaming, chocolate colored liquid. The roasted liquid unforgivingly seared the roof of his mouth before he begrudgingly swallowed it. He frowned and scrunched his eyebrows as he gazed into the cup. The flavor wasn't too awful – a bit of a robust tang to it – but Matthew didn't have the sophisticated pallid Francis had with all of his fancy French meals. Besides, he knew it was common courtesy to finish something, especially since Francis went out of his way to pay for it, though it probably did not cost him too much considering the academy he attended.

"Is it too bitter?" Francis asked with a hint of dejection apparent in his voice. "I knew I should've asked for creamer or milk…" he mused regretfully.

"No it's quite alright," Matthew began, lying only slightly. He set the mug onto one of the coasters with a chocolate, crosshatch print produced on its circular face. Candidly, Matthew had a bit of a sweet tooth – he even preferred maple syrup as a sweetener – therefore this bitter latte was not a taste he was accustomed to.

"Let me at least get the milk. I'll get half-and-half," Francis assured with a wink. Before Matthew could open his mouth to refute, Francis had returned to the condiment table for a jug made of porcelain labeled 'half-and-half' and a few white packets of sugar.

"You really didn't have to do that," Matthew thanked when Francis settled to his seat. He folded his right leg over his left and leaned forward which made Matthew feel less refined and sophisticated, seeing as he slouched in his chair comfortably compared to Francis. At least his posture wasn't as bad as his brother's.

Francis waved his hand dismissively and opened one of the sugar packets with his bleached-white teeth. "It's the least I could do. I knew I should have asked you what you wanted."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Matthew assured the French student. His lilac eyes watched curiously as Francis added two packets of sugar and a dabble of cream without hesitation to his latte.

Francis eyes met with Matthew's as he looked up from pouring the creamer into the coffee. Quickly, Matthew adverted his eyes to his hands uncomfortably as his face flushed a carnation pink. Francis took this into consideration and changed the subject.

"So…are you thinking about joining any clubs?"

Matthew giggled as if to forget about the previous turn of events. "Possibly," he pondered. "I really just want to focus on my studies and my music; unless you have a hockey team."

"Oh but we do! Although I don't see you as a hockey kid. I see you more as a French or history club."

"Are you saying that because you want me to join the same clubs you're in?" Matthew asked with raised eyebrows.

"See! You're too smart for such a barbarian sport."

"Hockey's in my blood; I'm Canadian," he deadpanned.

The elder student laughed, taking a sip of his crème. Matthew imitated him to be polite, but the drink tasted just as atrocious as it had before, except with more crystalized sugar. He masked his urge to choke the drink back into the mug by clearing his throat twice.

"You didn't have to drink it if you don't like it."

"It's actually pretty good," Matthew lied.

"I'm glad to see you are enjoying this café. To be honest, it reminds me of home," Francis explained nostalgically with a toothy grin.

"Oh…are you homesick?"

"A bit," Francis clarified. "But I have so many friends here that it's manageable. Besides there are so many things to do it takes my mind off of it. What about you?"

"What's there to miss?"

"Touché," Francis replied accompanied by a forced laugh.

"Where did you live in France?"

"Paris, of course."

"What is it like? I've only seen it from the internet and I don't want to be ignorant and think it is all _hon hon baguette Eiffel tower_." Where the hell did that come from? "Trust me; I get enough of that about Canada being all full of moose and hockey and gay people."

Francis giggled at his comment. "I wouldn't think any less of you. Besides, the internet does no justice to France," Francis began sharply. "While I do not visit the country as often as I should, the small villages are wonderful. And the cities – oh! the cities - are simply divine; don't get fooled by the disgusting exterior here. During the nighttime is my favorite part. The lights simply shimmer like candles at night."

"So Paris must be beautiful," Matthew concluded with a sigh.

"Not only Paris but the entire nation! All of the cobblestone paths and white stone buildings - not like the concrete garbage of New York - but real splendor. The countryside is breathtaking, it really is. Have you ever seen sunflower fields?"

"Barely," Matthew noted. "Sunflowers thrive in the Midwest, not really on the East coast…"

"Then I will just have to fly you to Europe so you can see for yourself."

"That is very kind of you," Matthew said with a cerise blush beginning to bloom. "But I would never be able to repay you."

"You can repay me with your beautiful French words that I have been longing to hear."

Matthew giggled. "That's hardly a sufficient payment."

"Please," Francis begged, drawing the word out similar to the likes of an immature child. "I barely ever hear a genuine French accent when I am here!"

"Tout ce que. Maintenant allez-vous arrêter de poser des?"

Francis smiled gleefully. "Magnifique. Vous avex un accent magnifique."

"Thank you," Matthew said blushing. "Oh, I mean Merci."

Francis laughed. "It's okay, we can speak in English if you would like."

"Yes, please," Matthew said with a sigh. "I'm pretty rusty with French since I moved to America. It was so much easier when everyone around me spoke it. Was it hard for you to learn English?"

"Not at all! Since my parents work internationally it was pretty easy to pick it up when they spoke it on the phone. Also my school had an English class so it wasn't as hard for me as it was for some people."

"What do your parents do?"

"They're fashion designers," Francis explained. "Designed the outfit I'm wearing."

"Oh, wow!" Matthew gawked sincerely. "Might I say that their attire is beautiful."

"Handmade, of course," Francis explained pompously. "Oh, but, um, yeah it's one-of-a-kind. They're not really main stream so…" he lied convincingly. It was blatantly obvious that his attire was more pompous than Matthew's clothes: a high collared denim jacket, a plaid navy button down, a pair of effortlessly ripped denim and black combat boots were too sophisticated for a Montreal Canadians jersey, a faded pair of jeans and a pair of black converse – compared to Francis, Matthew was down-right naked.

"I guess that makes it more unique."

"You could say that," Francis began stiffly. He shook his head once, his blond coils bobbing his forehead as he did so. "Enough about my life, what about your parents?"

"Eh? My family's boring compared to yours."

"No, come on! I told you so now you're obligated to tell me."

"Okay. Don't laugh but my parents are farmers. Well…my mom is a teacher but she helps my dad on the farm." Matthew blushed.

Francis blinked. "That is so adorable!"

"Really Francis, it's not. It's embarrassing compared to _your_ parents and most of the parents of the kids who attend this school."

"Mm," Francis noted. "I still think it's cute."

Matthew slapped his arm playfully. "Stop. You're embarrassing me."

"But you look so cute when you're all red and flustered."

Matthew choked on the warming liquid quite bewildered at Francis' accusation. Matthew was, daresay, _cute_? "What?" he asked bewildered, his eyes dilated widely.

"Oh I didn't mean to offend you," Francis defended, waving his hands in the tense atmosphere. "I just said you were…uh…cute."

Matthew blinked twice. He couldn't be seriously, could he? The French student who had the unblemished appearance comparable to cherubs dozing on clouds? Francis Bonnefoy? _The_ Francis Bonnefoy?

"T-Thank you," Matthew sputtered.

"You sound surprised. We _are_ on a date."

"What!?" Matthew sputtered glaring at the French student harshly. "I'm not-I mean I'm not-"

Francis blew a stray strand of his flaxen locks out of his face. "I knew you didn't like me."

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Matthew exhaled. "It's just that, it's been a week! Not even a week. And I barely know you."

"Isn't that what dating is for?" Francis asked hopefully. "To get to know someone?"

"But I want to know you _more_…Besides I'm not actually, you know, out of the closet."

"Oh but you _are_ homosexual," Francis taunted.

"_Bi_sexual," Matthew corrected sharply.

"Is this a rejection?"

"I am not rejecting you, per say, I merely asking to take things slow."

"So it's not a no?"

"Let us get to know each other before we date, okay?" Matthew looked at his watch. "Oh dear, look at the time! I promised I would be home to help Alfred study. I really must be going." Matthew hap-hazardously gathered his strewn belongings into his locked arms and placed the mug into his hands. "I'll see you around."

"Or you could always call me."

"Call? I don't have your number," Matthew reminded him.

"Oh? Don't you?" Francis asked with an arched golden eyebrow. He pointed to bottom side of the mug and there, inscribed in black, cursive letters, was Francis' nine digit phone number.

"T-Thank you again. It was a pleasure to…uh…see you."

Francis smiled sincerely making small creases appear at the edges of his eyes. "Pleasure was all mine."

_TBC?_

* * *

**Author's Notes: What did you think?**

**Urg I hated the ending but I literally had ten other ones and this was the best so...**

**I know, you're probably thinking: who the hell writes on the bottom of a mug? Well...Francis Bonnefoy that's who!**

**I love Francis and Matthew so much so this was pretty easy to write! They are so cute together!**

**The only problem is, I want them in a relationship so bad but I have to constantly remind myself that it wouldn't be realistic to jump into one, except for Francis, apparently. Don't worry, there's a reason for that. There's a reason for everything!**

**By the way, all of the things to do in NYC I highly recommend. Just be careful because they are tourist traps, similar to Paris.**

**Did you see that I added "Paris is Indeed Splendid" in there. I'm not a big fan of that song but I thought it would be cute to add uwu**

**Secretly I'm like Matthew. I have a big sweet tooth and I hate coffee. It's too bitter. It has that weird coffee taste haha but I still drink it just to keep me awake if I absolutely need to :P I'm more of a hot chocolate person!**

**Just to clarify: Francis' parents _are _famous fashion designers but Matthew is unaware of this fact. Also Francis is trying to hide this fact from Matthew. Obviously not well.**

**For the record, I don't actually like the song Call Me Maybe. It's catchy, yes, but not exactly my tastes :/**

**Translations (I don't know any French so feel free to correct google translate) =**

**Tout ce que. Maintenant allez-vous arrêter de poser des? - Whatever. Now will you stop asking?**

**Magnifique. Vous avex un accent magnifique. - Magnificent. You have a beautiful accent.**

**Responding to reviews: *DISCLAIMER I AM ONLY COMMENTING TO NEW REVIEWS AS I HAVE COMMENTED TO OLD REVIEWS IN PREVIOUS CHAPTERS AND THEY ARE A BIT IRRELEVANT BUT I LOVE YOU JUST AS MUCH!***

**Guest: YES! Always Spamano. Not for a few chapters but yes, there will be Spamano and lots of it. Thank you for reviewing :)**

**THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! EVERYONE WHO READ THIS IS AS AWESOME AS PRUSSIA!**

**I think I have a vague idea about how this story is going to turn out, and a possible sequel...**

**PLEASE leave a review before clicking that giant red [X] in the corner of this page!**

**Next chapter will be back to Arthur and Alfred. **

**Thanks for sticking with my random updates!**


	4. Revolution

**One more week and testing will be over! YEAH~**

**I simply cannot believe how fast this year has been going, especially with such little updates I've had (sorry)**

**So I was _going_ to publish this yesterday buuuuuuuut fanfic was being annoying and kept giving me an error. ((Did anyone else have this problem or...?))**

**Anyhow, I do not have a finalized list of characters and their instruments. I apologize. I hope to finish this by next update but I've been extremely busy with testings!**

**This chapter is in Arthur's POV**

**Anyways, I want to limit my A/Ns since I doubt anyone reads this anyways, so enjoy!**

**Chapter song= Revolution 1 - The Beatles**

**Warnings: Strong language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

**January 10th**

Mondays were always the worst day of the students at World Academy, as it was for any student. After a long weekend of club meetings and free time, the routine would begin anew and students would trudge back into the palace of a school to resume their studies, not that anyone particularly minded all that much.

However, Mondays were Arthur's refuge.

Arthur whipped the gingham duvet cocooned around his body and stumbled out of his bed groggily, muttering slurred sentences about his home in England. Groping the wall, he directed himself to the white draperies which he dragged apart revealing the sixth floor view of the street below. In the light of the day, nobody could deny the room itself was pristine as the day he moved in – clothes were neatly tucked into his wardrobe and books were alphabetically assorted by author in place of a second bed – save for the composition music he was languidly scrawling on the night before.

Arthur dragged his feet along the carpet to his wardrobe picking out a Rolling Stones top, a leather vest that looked more like a strait-jacket than a vest and a pair of red and black plaid jeans. He routinely moved to his personal bathroom to finish grooming himself for the day. He turned to face his reflection in the vanity's curved mirror. He scowled at his obvious imperfections, absently reminding himself of the lengthy list of flaws he had to fix.

Tearing away from his pitiful gaze, Arthur splashed his face with cold water, making sure to avoid his recently dyed green locks. Turning off the faucet, he squirted a dab of product into his palm and combed his lubricated hand through his tangles sloppily, hoping his hair would cooperate for once. His quote-unquote ritual continued with liquid foundation applied to cover his strawberry-like freckles he inherited from his mother. He applied a thick centimeter of liner and smeared a dark shade of gloss onto his lips. Lastly, he added his tongue ring and ear piercing before staring at his disguise in the vanity's mirror. Satisfied with himself, Arthur took his leave for the morning.

While other students slept in as long as they could, Arthur slipped through the hallways – guitar in hand – to the music chambers. To the English student, composing pieces and reading books calmed him from the chaos of the student body that followed during the week. Rather, Arthur enjoyed the solitude he would not receive until the end of classes later that evening. He claimed the student body was rather gaudy and pretentious for his level of maturity and tended to isolate himself in his secluded dorm room. There, he wasn't persecuted or rejected; he was safe.

The music room was quaint – not overly adorned in marble and fresh paint – and certainly not as classy and sleek as the rest of the academy. The manila fold-up chairs created a crescent encasing a poorly composed, wooden podium. There were no retrofitted technologies such as central heating and cooling, therefore the room was as frigid as the cascading snowflakes just outside of the room. Windows were thin rectangles, if any; lined on the cinderblock, crème walls which made the room seem intuitional. For World Academy, the room was well…tragic.

Currently, Arthur was in the middle of a new quote-unquote masterpiece composition and was too enthralled in his wistful lyrics about his home to notice the door to the music room swinging on its hinges and the heavy footsteps of a student scuffing through the room. What he did manage to hear was a shrill, metallic noise resonating from the corner of the music room.

Arthur craned his neck gradually and narrowed his eyes dauntingly. "Get out from under there!"

"How did you know I was there?" a notoriously vulgar voice asked. Alfred emerged guiltily from behind the metallic, curved stand that held the bass drum in place. He was dressed in his naturally comfortable attire consisting of an oversized t-shirt, a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a pair of tattered black converse and his signature bomber jacket. As usual, his mop-like hair was parted scruffily to the side of his head where one strand of sunflower-blond hair curved towards the ceiling. He stood dumbly in the square doorframe to the practice room tentatively, perhaps debating on whether he should approach the English student or not.

"Never mind that; how long were you there?" he asked irritably with a scowl. To his knowledge, Alfred would be the first person to know that he sings, let alone hear it. Lucky for him, Alfred was not a glitzy celebrity who has any credibility in the illustrious world apart from his small contributions to the arts; rather he was only a scholarship recipient, and to Arthur's knowledge, he barely had any friends to tell regardless. Alfred was a nobody, as far as he was concerned. Nevertheless, the English student would rather not have anyone know about his passion for music, famous or not.

Alfred shrugged casually and leaned against the doorframe coolly. "A few minutes, maybe more."

"I have to go!" Arthur hastily collected his strewn composition notes into his locked arms protectively. He couldn't let _Alfred Jones _– albeit oblivious – learn anything about his true self, not after all of the determination he had to conceal it. And now some American, who had only attending the academy for one week, had learnt one of his confidences, even if he was a nobody.

"Wait, why?" Alfred asked naively, a bit _too _naively if you asked Arthur. In his mind, nobody could be that ignorant, but he was American after all.

"I have to study," the older of the two replied. Arthur pushed past Alfred's heavy form, purposely hitting into his left side as he did so.

Alfred pivoted clockwise as his inquisitive saltwater eyes followed his hasty movements. "For what?"

"None of your fucking business!" he said, his rather thick eyebrows furrowing. "What are you doing here? Nobody is supposed to be here."

"I didn't mean to intrude-"

"If you didn't then why did you?" Arthur interrupted with an arched, thick eyebrow.

"Look, I'm just picking up my instrument." Alfred held up his instrument innocently. "Jeez, you act like you own the place," he mumbled sulkily.

"I do."

"Well then…I'll just be going," Alfred added awkwardly. He motioned towards the ligneous door and turned on the heel of his converse.

"Mm," he mused in approval, his slender irises never faltering from the departing figure.

Alfred wedged a foot in the door before it could lock behind him. "Before I go, I have to know if that was you playing."

"And what if it was?" Arthur asked defensively, his arms crossed across his slender torso.

"I thought it was amazing!" A toothy grin rounded his full lips sincerely as he spoke with vibrant appreciation. "You wrote that song, right?"

"What's it to you?"

"It was good, you should trust me; I know music!" he exclaimed with a foolish smile still plastered on his curved lips.

"Trust you?" Arthur mocked with an insufferable cackle. "Of all people…"

"Trust is a two way street. I trust you…" Alfred's words lingered in the air as he rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes glancing around the room as if they did not know where to look.

"I don't know why you would," Arthur muttered bitterly. "But I guess you can continue."

"Well…all of the chords and everything! And the lyrics! I didn't think you were _that_ good."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Arthur chided with a scowl apparent on his features. Secretly, he was flattered by his endearing words, but he wasn't about to let him know that.

"I _complimented _you," Alfred criticized and threw his hands in the air to exemplify his argument. "You should say thank you."

"Why should I thank someone who only meant it half-heartedly?"

"I'm serious! You're amazing!" Alfred's gaze met with Arthur's. "I've heard some damn good players and they're not nearly as good as you."

"Oh please," Arthur said rolling his eyes.

"Why are you being so obnoxious?" Alfred demanded, almost juvenilely.

"Me? Obnoxious?" Arthur snorted callously with a fake hurt expression coating his masked appearances like a posed photography. "Where have I heard that one before…?"

Alfred hesitated before asking, "What did I ever do?"

"I don't get along with people," he stated bluntly, as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. "Now if you don't mind I am very busy…"

Alfred grabbed the neck of Arthur's guitar and held it over his head triumphantly.

"That's mine, you prick!" Arthur shouted, a blue vein popping from his forehead out of unadulterated anger. He outstretched his arms in a unenthusiastic attempt to reclaim his instrument, yet the American was just a tad larger than him, in more than just height. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Stopping you from leaving," Alfred blurted pathetically.

Arthur crossed his arms apathetically. "If you wanted to stop me, you could have bloody well said something. This is just unfair. I shouldn't stand for this nonsense. I am very busy, you know-"

"I just want some answers."

"Answers to what?"

"Anything…really, as long as you are comfortable."

"Comfortable? I think this stopped being comfortable when you entered this school! This isn't a question and answer forum and it is neither a rousing game of never-have-I-ever. I don't like information spreading about me."

"Then maybe you should tell me the truth and rumors wouldn't spread like wildfire."  
"Why?" Arthur probed. He stormed up to the American student and stopped inches away from his lips. "Do you want to tell your friends these so called truths? Because trust me, I wouldn't doubt that Trio of theirs would love to know some deep dark secret to blackmail me."

Alfred blinked twice, dismayed that Arthur even assumed such a thought. "No, I would never-"

"Are you being bribed?"

"No…" Alfred responded hesitantly.

"Do you want to tell everyone that I actually have a 'soft side'?"

"What?"

"Then why?" Arthur asked desperately, tears swelling in the corners of his bloodshot eyes.

"Do I really need a reason?"

"Answer my question before I answer any of yours. As you said, trust is a two way street."

Alfred looked at the distrust in Arthur's jaded eyes. "I want to be your friend," he blurted.

Arthur laughed. "Friend? I told you, I don't have friends. The closet thing I have to a friend is that French bastard, and I would hardly call him my friend. More like an enemy if you ask me. I don't get along with people."

"You don't know that!"

"Especially not with obnoxious Americans!"

"I'm not obnoxious."

Arthur placed his hands on his waist similar to a mother would when scolding her child. And that is what Arthur believed this to be: merely a quarrel of superiority in a fight he was sure to be triumphant.

"Fine, I'm obnoxious. But you are too! Everyone has flaws about them! So what if I'm a little obnoxious? I'm a nice person! I'm a hero! So we should, um, be friends."

"You're efforts to be chivalrous are ineffective." Arthur deflected his gaze to the off-white, industrial slates of linoleum. "You should stop when you are ahead, it's easier that way. I would know…"

The room became unbearably tense, both blonds not exactly sure how to continue such a heavy topic.

Arthur broke the silence with a resigned exhale. "Besides nobody wants to be friends with _Arthur Kirkland_."

"Plenty of people would. You know, if you stopped being an asshole," he assured, muttering the latter sentence under his breath.

"I would if I could, but that's who I am," Arthur dismissed casually. "I'm English, you know."

"Aren't Brits supposed to be…I don't know…gentleman-y? I thought Brits are all _'Pip, pip, cheerio'_"

Arthur rolled his jaded eyes, disgusted with his prejudice thoughts about his homeland. "Were you expecting an invitation for tea with the Queen?"

"Naturally," Alfred opposed sharply. For an American, Arthur had to admit he was quite sharp-tongued and quick to refute his prior statements. He was nearly as good as himself. Nearly.

"What about you?" Arthur jabbed his index finger between Alfred's breast bones vulgarly. "You're American? I'm not surprised you wouldn't just dump the tea down the drain and call it the second American Revolution."

"Very funny," he scowled, curling his lip to expose his canine tooth.

"I try," Arthur said dryly. "Now will you give me back my guitar?"

Alfred pulled the guitar above his head so Arthur could not reach. Curse his mother's genes. "No, I still have a few more questions."

"Really, now this is just ridiculous."

"Why don't you play like this in band?"

Arthur paused. "What kind of question is that?"

"A good one," Alfred defended with an immature pout. His baby blue eyes gazed at the floor while his hands idly traced the veins on his wrists, evidently intimidated.

"Very well, then. The real question is why should I try? Nobody else does, and why am I any different? The music program is underfunded and I wouldn't doubt it is going to get cut in May; they've been trying for years to prevent it, so it is inevitable."

"What?"

"You heard me, now give me back my guitar!" Arthur spat. He extended his gangly arms only to be thwarted by Alfred pulling the guitar away from his vicinity.

"Don't you care? At all?"

"Why? We're not good," he deadpanned. "We couldn't play a scale if we wanted to, let alone whatever nonsense Mr. Edelstein wants us to play. He has quite high expectations. The only problem is nobody truly cares."

"I care!"

"Don't try to act like a hero; you're not. Welcome to the real world." Arthur snatched the neck of his guitar angrily. "Now if you don't mind, I will be taking me leave."

"You care, don't you?"

"I don't care about anything," he responded over his shoulder.

"No, I think you care. I think you care more than anyone! More than Mr. Edelstein and more than me. You're a great musician and you shouldn't let such talent go to waste." Alfred hesitated before continuing. "You know what I see under that punk disguise."

Arthur stopped in his tracks. "Please, pleasure me with your intelligence."

"I see someone who is terrified of their past and is too weak to face it. So you put on this whole show of being 'too cool for school' hoping nobody would see past it, but I can. Surely you claim you have no friends because you don't get along with anybody, but you just further push them away. You're afraid of getting hurt, getting broken. You do the exact same thing with music. You care about the music program, don't you?"

Arthur grimaced and clenched his jaw noticeably, deflecting Alfred's accurate words. "You think you're all confident, don't you?" he asked sardonically. "Do you want to know what I see? I see an obnoxious, small-town American loser. You receive horrible grades and are terribly unaware of reality. You obviously resort to food as comfort, seeing as you probably have more kilograms than friends."

Alfred looked appalled; his blank expression was indecipherable.

"Sure, my disguise may be flawed in some respects, but don't for one second pretend you know me. You don't. Sorry to disappoint, but not everything can be a chick-flick movie. You should stop trying to be a noble hero because it doesn't fit you."

Alfred stood stunned with the truthfulness of Arthur's candid words.

"Judging by your facial expression I was right. Close your mouth, you'll catch flies." Arthur commanded.

Alfred obeyed.

"I'll be going now."

"You're wrong," Alfred mumbled carelessly.

"What was that?"

"You're wrong. You care about the music program. And I swear I am going to save it. And I'm going to save you too."

Arthur gave him a mock salute as he exited the music room. "Good luck with that, Mister _Hero_."

_TBC?_

* * *

**Author's Notes: First chapter I am actually satisfied with!**

**Undoubtedly**** my longest chapter (2500+ with_out_ my rants!) but I love this new style of writing. It seems a lot more sophisticated, even though it takes me about two weeks to complete :/**

**I actually love Arthur's character. He's such a douche.**

**Buuuuut I feel so bad for him :( And Alfred too :(**

**The song Arthur was singing at the beginning was supposed to be AIBG but it will come up later so yeah. **

**Don't worry, it'll be a happy ending...when I get around to that. AKA 4000+ chapters. Oi. **

**I think I have a pretty good direction in which these two characters are going to go in! Yippee That means more writing ((if I ever get off my lazy ass))!**

**Responding to reviews: *DISCLAIMER I AM ONLY COMMENTING TO NEW REVIEWS AS I HAVE COMMENTED TO OLD REVIEWS IN PREVIOUS CHAPTERS AND THEY ARE A BIT IRRELEVANT BUT I LOVE YOU JUST AS MUCH!***

**Juju19972: Wow! Thank you~ I try to over develop my characters so I am glad it is working out!**

**SakuraMoriChan: Eventual UsUk powers activate haha *blushes* Aw you are too nice. You really didn't have to...Thank you! **

**Iggy Butt: I hope I provided enough UsUk...thank you~**

**SHOUT OUT TO MY READERS: YOU ARE AWESOME AND I THANK YOU~**

**Okay so this story is going to be told in four alternating POVs (in any order): Arthur, Alfred, Francis and Matthew. Then each chapter that is a multiple of five I will have a different character. Any suggestions? So far I think next chapter will be either Spain, Romano or Prussia. **

**R&R please!**

**Off to dreamland~**


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